


Slowing Down

by rocketkid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bipolar Junkrat, Genderfluid Roadhog, M/M, Trans Junkrat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7599916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketkid/pseuds/rocketkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written from my experience as a bipolar person, and my extremely recent experience being very fast then very slow for the first time in a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slowing Down

**Author's Note:**

> I used they pronouns for Roadhog, I hope this doesn't throw anyone off too badly. Despite using these pronouns myself, I was never very good at the grammar aspects and mostly just end up using whatever sounds alright. Also, it doesn't really come up in this one, but if I've written it, assume Junkrat is trans. I might add more to this later when I'm feeling more manic, to represent both sides of the coin.

Later, off the battlefield, away from everyone else, something in him stops. Or, he shouldn't put it like that- it's more like, something in him that was moving very fast has begun the process of slowing down. It isn't surprising or even very predictable, but all the skipped meals and fast steps and caring about it later begins to catch up to him.  
Roadhog notices, they always notice. They make an extra sandwich in the crowded kitchen, pots and pans dripping something maybe-oil, maybe-gasoline. There is an entire counter designated as The Drink Station for various coffees, milk teas, iced teas, and so on. Junkrat blends some iced coffee in an attempt to feel less like he's slowly falling asleep.  
Roadhog sets a plate down in front of him with a clatter, already pulling their mask up to eat. Junkrat stares out the window, consumed by his thoughts. The weather here is not unlike Australia, just with less radiation. He hopes. It's warm and bright but the thick curtains they got in the temporary housing block out most of the sun. He reckons they're so you can sleep any time of day. The sun is setting soon, though, so the light sneaking in through the cracks between the curtains is red-tinged.  
He snaps out of his thoughts when Roadhog grumbles a, "Hey."  
He looks down at the food and finds he isn't hungry, even though he's hardly eaten for all the work he's been doing these last few days. All he really wants to do now is sleep. He thinks back to times when he had no food and eats anyway.  
After that, he wanders over to the couch slash bed, unhooking his prosthetic arm as he goes and setting it on whatever surface doesn't contain works in progress. Near the bed, you never know. He undoes the straps holding his leg on and leaves it propped against the bed. He turns on the TV and flips around through what feels like a billion channels before settling on a dirtbike racing channel, muted.  
He hears the shower start up and knows he has about an hour to himself. He snags a tube of cleaning wipes and drags one over his face… good enough. He's almost drifting off, completely bored by the death-defying stunts on the TV. Amateurs.  
Roadhog comes back and settles into their half of the bed slash couch. They're not much for talking, but they know Junkrat is slowing down. It happens every few weeks, and no amount of milk tea with boba or explosions will truly lift his mood. He can manage, he can work, Roadhog knows this much- but his laughter is more bitter than manic and between missions he is near silent and always sleeping too much.  
Without looking over, Roadhog lays one of their hands on Junkrat's shoulder. They don't know what to say. Something encouraging? Maybe some way to convey that it will be over in a week or so? Ah, but would that really help, living in the moment has its perks but in downtimes there isn't much anyone can do.  
In the Wastelands it was easier to run rampant then disappear for a week or two, expected almost, laying low. No one needed to know that you spent those two weeks hiding and sleeping off malicious thoughts. Living in civilization as they were now, it was harder to drop off the map.  
Junkrat eventually falls asleep, curled around a pillow. Roadhog turned the muted TV off and laid down as quietly as they could. Come the morning, it would be rough getting Junkrat out of bed, and once they did he would give them that betrayed look, like they should have just let him lay there to rot. But it needed to be done, so Roadhog would do it. As used to as they were to the ebb and flow of Junkrat's mood, to see him quiet just a day or two after seeing him as he was, it was still disconcerting.  
It won't be for long, they reminded themself, it never is.


End file.
